


he changes the game (he plays and he raises the stakes)

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: in our own might [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Equally Exasperated Boyfriend John Laurens, Exasperated Roommate Aaron Burr, Fluff, Gen, Hero Peggy Schuyler, Humor, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Rivalry, Sassy Peggy Schuyler, The angst just– kind of– happened, Villain Alexander Hamilton, Villain Lafayette, Villain Thomas Jefferson, What Is Our Relationship? featuring A. Hamilton and T. Jefferson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: “You know,” John began slowly, “sooner or later, someone is going to notice that your coffee sprees exactly coincide with the Neuromancer's latest evil scheme planning phase.”Alexander scoffed. “Yeah,right,” he said skeptically.Featuring Aaron The Caring Roommate, the arrival of a new superhero, pets with weird names, weird pets without names, and human disaster and tarantula owner Thomas Jefferson.





	he changes the game (he plays and he raises the stakes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdotHann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdotHann/gifts).



> So. I survived my physics final. And my religious studies final.
> 
> May the Fourth be with you.

“Who are you?” the villain asked, pausing briefly his efforts to seize the mayor's office.

Peggy tilted her head. “I'm the hero who's going to stop your dumbass plan,” she replied nonchalantly.

The villain snorted. “I am the Marquis!” he sneered. “One does not simply _stop_ me.”

Peggy scoffed. “Well,” she drawled, “I am the Duchess, and I rank higher than you do.”

The villain stopped. He blinked. “Except you do not? Not in any legitimate system, at least,” he retorted, but in a way that sounded as if he didn't quite believe what he was hearing either.

Objectively, Peggy could agree. After all, naming herself after her nemesis didn't only create unnecessary feelings of attachments, it also sounded plain stupid. It was as if Lex Luthor had called himself the anti-Superman.

 _Oh well_ , she shrugged, nobody ever claimed she put much thought into her ideas.

* * *

 _Of all the possible plans their new hero could have had_ , _this_ is what that dunderhead of a hero came up with?

Alexander watched the fight despairingly from the sidelines, idly munching on a croissant he picked up from John's café. (It technically wasn't _actually_ John's café, but, considering the raise he got out of his handling of the Neuromancer, it might as well be.)

No one really knew where Vampyre had come from. He didn't contact any of the superheroes upon arrival, and while there wasn't a precedent to fall back on, Alexander felt that he should have, if only because Hercules wouldn't stop complaining about this to Lafayette, who, in turn, took it out on Alexander and Thomas.

Even were all that put aside, Vampyre unsettled just about everyone in different fashions. He was, in Alexander's personal opinion, more than slightly unhinged. Alexander noted, with some amusement, that the heroes found it frightening, in addition to being annoyed at the lack of communication from Vampyre, also how close Vampyre skirted to to being a supervillain at times. He simply played too much in the grey zone to be a superhero.

Alexander, for his part, along with the other supervillains, were pissed because Vampyre refused to play by the unwritten Rules of Engagement: don't cause unnecessary civilians losses; avoid arbitrary damage; don't kill each other; don't fight fire with fire. Besides, Alexander thought with no small amount of bitterness, Vampyre upset the fragile balance of superheroes-vs-supervillains in the city, which took _years_ to create.

There wasn't much to know about Vampyre. He was a man in his, from what Alexander could guess, early thirties; blond with grey eyes. His superpower was superhuman speed and endurance. He always wore a cape and a hood; Alexander had initially thought that he was simply taking the 'vampire' thing too far, before one day discovering – through sheer mistake, if he was honest – that Vampyre's skin literally _burned_ in the sun. Alexander was so startled that he stopped his attack there and then.

Later, after over an evening full of research, Alexander came to the conclusion that Vampyre suffered from a mild case of porphyria – called, ironically enough, the vampire disease because its symptoms mirrored those of the mythological vampire.

From there, Alexander had drawn a few conclusions about Vampyre's medications – in all probability not used as frequently as they ought to be, which Alexander could certainly empathize with – and about his manic episodes – probably having been caused by badly-prescribed drugs, which triggered his latent mania.

Alexander couldn't, for any amount of trying, get a feel for the man's personality – if he even _had_ one, beneath that madness of his.

He winced as a red blur that could only be the Vampyre zigged back and forth in front of the school, where Lafayette had staged a hostage situation in retaliation for the governor of New York's proposal to have high school students tested for any mutations, 'in an effort to be proactive in the battle against people abusing their abilities' – the very words left a sour taste in Alexander's mouth.

Alexander personally thought that Lafayette's attack would have the opposite attack and would actually gain the governor the support he sorely needed to get his bill through the New York Congress, but remembered what happened when Lafayette last tried to convince Jefferson to change one of his plans. A villain tended to be upset when their fellows tried to interfere. Alexander would have only made the situation worse, had he tried to meddle with Lafayette's _genius_ plan.

 _Too bad_. It was no longer his duty to do damage control for Lafayette. Peggy now held that dubious honour – along with, it seemed, the Vampyre.

With a smirk, Alexander swallowed the last piece of the croissant, then turned on his heels and left, leaving Peggy and the Vampyre to their mess.

* * *

“Turn left, if you will,” Peggy's GPS said in a dry voice. “Unless you've got a better idea, that is.”

“Oh, shut up,” Peggy said, but obligingly turned left. “I don't know why I haven't thrown you out,” she told the small device situated innocuously to her right.

“I can practically _hear_ you talking,” said the GPS.

“No, you can't,” Peggy insisted.

This was a debate she held with the GPS every time she went out for a ride. Honestly, it was _ridiculous_. She considered dropping by Alexander and Aaron's apartment, if only to chuck the GPS at the villain. It had been Alexander's idea of a joke to give her a GPS with a customized voice, after disabling the option of changing said voice. As a result, her GPS was… unique, to say the least.

“Since you've managed to follow my instructions so far – congratulations, by the way,” the GPS continued, “continue straight ahead. That shouldn't be too complicated, even for you.”

“You know,” Peggy replied, despite knowing that the GPS couldn't actually understand her, “I am going to get you fixed one of these days.”

“Of course, darlin',” the GPS said skeptically. “Whatever you say.”

 _Bloody Alexander_ fucking _Hamilton._

* * *

“Give me an opinion,” Alexander insisted.

Aaron heaved a sigh, having been part of this discussion too many times to count. “Alexander–“

“Seriously. _Any opinion_. Just give me something. _Anything_. Hell, I'll even take your views on ice cream flavours,” Alexander caught Aaron's shifty eyes, and groaned. “Are you _kidding me_? You can't even decide on _ice cream_? Are you even human?” he asked rhetorically. “Remind me never to ask you for decorating advise for our apartment.”

“It's not as if you had done that anyway,” Aaron pointed out.

“Only because you're the human epitome of an enabler for the indecisive,” Alexander retorted.

Aaron sighed. “That doesn't even make sense, Hamilton. When was the last time your took your meds?”

Alexander frowned. “I hardly see how that is any of your–“

“It is,” Aaron cut him off, “when your behaviour begins to endanger yourself and the people around you. Answer my question.”

Alexander actually stopped to think, which, while a sign that he was finally taking Aaron's request seriously, also meant that it had been long enough that he had to really think about it. Aaron sighed, silently reaching for the place where Alexander kept his meds. “Don't answer,” he said, opening the jar and taking out two pills. He thrust them into Alexander's hand. “Take them. Don't make me force you. You know what I'm capable of.”

Alexander rolled his eyes, as if to indicate that he highly doubted that Aaron would ever actually go through with his threat, but obligingly took the pills, swallowing both of them with water.

* * *

“My _dog_ has better opinions than this guy,” Alexander scoffed, jostling John from his sketchbook and pointing out an article in the New York Times. “Read that,” he prompted.

“Alexander,” John said slowly, mechanically accepting the proffered newspaper, “you _don't_ have a dog, unless I've severely misjudged Mr Mistoffelees' race.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Alexander said smugly.

“But what you're saying, in that case,” John continued, “is that your non-existent dog, a _nobody_ , has better opinions than Seabury. _Nobody has better opinions than Seabury_ ,” John enunciated. “That sounds like a hell of a praise to me.”

Alexander actually paused. He narrowed his eyes. “You do have a point,” he conceded.

“Honestly,” John sighed, “for a man as insanely intelligent and as powerful as you are, you have the thinking skills of a table spoon.”

“Don't you mean the emotional range of a table spoon?” Alexander grinned.

“No, you nerd,” John rolled his eyes but kissed Alexander lightly, then drew back, only to lean their foreheads together.

Their bubble was burst by a loud meow. John looked away, his eyes falling on a light-brown cat. Since Mr Mistoffelees' fur was black, this had to be Aaron's cat. Glove, unless John's memory was failing. For the life of his, John would never be able to understand what had prompted Alexander to name his cat 'Mr Mistoffelees', much less why Aaron had named _his_ 'Glove'. It had to be a superhuman thing, for all that Aaron frequently pointed out that he actively did not use his powers. This was usually followed by a snort on Alexander's part, while John was left marveling at the fact that _Aaron Burr_ actually had an Opinion which he shared with the outside world.

(According to Maria, who had heard it from Angelica, Hercules used to joke that Alexander owning a black cat was an obvious indication of the fact that he was a secret witch.)

“I should go,” John said, taking a step back, though he didn't let go of Alexander's hand quite yet. “I've got a shift in twenty minutes.”

Alexander pouted. “John–“ he began.

“ _Nu–uh_ ,” John intervened, pressing a finger to Alexander's lips, inwardly marveling at their deceptive softness. “I can't stay. Maybe later.”

"Later," Alexander echoed quietly.

* * *

“You can’t excuse _every crime you commit in the whole of October_ as ‘being in the Halloween spirit,” Peggy rolled her eyes.

Thomas smirked. “I find it really sweet that you think this is confined to October,” he said sweetly.

“I'm starting to suspect that your sole purpose to commit crimes is to piss me off,” Peggy retorted.

“No, it's not. Don't be so egocentric. It doesn't suit a hero,” Thomas rolled. “Just, you know, most of them are.”

“ _I knew it_ ,” Peggy said, launching a fist into the empty air in celebration.

Thomas turned up his nose. “I'll have you know that I am a _proper Southern gentleman_.”

“Yeah, _right_ ,” Peggy scoffed. “I noticed. What with the rattlesnakes and all. You know,” she said conversationally, “before I began having to deal with you, I couldn't tell a boa from a viper. _Now,_ I'm certain that, should I ever be trapped in a jungle, my chances of survival would skyrocket.”

“Unless you want me to release my boyfriend's dogs instead…” Thomas trailed off suggestively.

Peggy furrowed her brows. “Why– How– Since when does James have _dogs_?”

It was Thomas' turn to frown. “Since when do you know James?”

Peggy shrugged. “Alex's roommate is interning with him. I've met him briefly once. Back to his dogs,” she demanded, fight long forgotten, heedless of the fact that the building they were standing in was gradually being filled with water.

 _What the hell. Why not._ “He has two, actually,” Thomas said. “Melian and Varda. I gave them to him for our anniversary.”

Peggy snorted. “I was going to say that it's creepy for you to shower him with puppies for your first anniversary," she said, "but let's be honest – that doesn't even _make the list_ of the weirdest shit you've pulled.”

“Since when do you keep a list like that?”

“Since the time you declared a one-man war against our country's fiscal system,” Peggy replied. “Which is still number two on the list.”

“What's number one?” Thomas couldn't help but ask, despite suspecting that he didn't want to know the answer to that.

“That time you tried to convince the mayor he was a chicken, except you were drunk off your ass and your powers backfired and I was left trying to get you home while all you wanted to do was quack and eat wheat,” Peggy said, then amended, “Or whatever chickens eat. I don't know, and I honestly don't care.”

“Oyster,” Thomas said.

“What?” Peggy scrunched up her nose.

“They eat oyster,” Thomas repeated. “Or at least, they are supposed to.”

The water was now to their waist. Peggy still ignored it. “I honestly couldn't care less,” she said dismissively. “The point is that I had to go to Alexander because I didn't know where you lived, and I think he still has the pictures from that day.”

Thomas swore under his breath. He then looked around. “You know what?” he abruptly said. “I'm out of here before I drown. Good luck with the clean-up,” he smirked at Peggy, who looked around in bewilderment before launching into a tirade a seasoned sailor would have been proud of.

* * *

 

Alexander frowned. "—Jefferson?" he reached out a hand, as if to touch Thomas' shoulder, then thought better of it. He let his hand fall down. "What's wrong?"

“God, I–“ Thomas choked on his words. He swallowed. “I was going to ask you out. Before. Back when you were a superhero. When I had your attention.”

“What?” Alexander replied dumbly, for once at a loss for words.

“That night,” Thomas clarified not at all. “I was going to ask you out. I thought that, what with the wine incident—" his voice hitched. "I've had a crush on you for ages, and I was going to ask you out. But then you left to deal with the Icicle, and Athena and the Duchess got involved, and–“ he stopped. “Well. Things happened.”

Alexander didn't need a reminder of that night. He had been distraught from his fight with Mr Magenta, and when he arrived at the scene where Angelica and Peggy, as well as Alexander's personal team, had been fighting the Icicle. He had joined into the fray, not even throwing his teammates so much as a 'hello'.

He hadn't gotten the chance, afterwards. It would probably remain one of his unfulfilled desires, if he was honest with himself.

Focus back in Thomas. Ongoing conversation. Crush on former nemesis. _Right_.

“I never knew that you– saw me that way,” Alexander responded awkwardly.

Thomas snorted. “That is because I, unlike you, am capable of keeping a secret instead of making it my personal mission to share it with as much of the world as possible.”

“What about now?” Alexander wanted to know.

“Now, I have James. I got over you,” Thomas said shortly, brusquely.

* * *

“You know,” John began slowly, “sooner or later, someone _is_ going to notice that your coffee sprees exactly coincide with the Neuromancer's latest evil scheme planning phase.”

Alexander scoffed. “Yeah, _right_ ,” he said skeptically. He looked down at his computer, then growled. “It's moments like these that make me abhor the English language.”

John frowned, shifting seats so that he was sitting down next to his boyfriend. “What is it?” he peered at the screen.

Alexander pointed at a sentence emphatically. “'…not that that, that we, as a nation, are forced…',” he read out loud. “How is it even grammatically _possible_ to have three 'that's in a row?”

John shrugged. “To quote a thing from the internet, 'English is a language that lurks in dark alleys, beats up other languages and rifles through their pockets for spare vocabulary'.”

* * *

“Eliza, are you sure about this?” Angelica had asked a long time ago, back when Eliza had first started her blog. She was frowning. ”This is dangerous, you know. It's a sure-fire way to make enemies. Powerful enemies,” she concluded what was probably supposed to be a warning.

Peggy, who happened to pass by, laughed outright. “It's not as if she's not in danger _anyway_ , what with the two of us,” she reminded Angelica.

“Still,” Angelica insisted. “It would be safer for you–“

“Safer, not better,” Eliza cut her sister off. She sighed. “Doing what is right may not be safe, but it is necessary. Besides, even if I do the safe thing, it doesn't guarantee my safety. The world _needs_ this.”

To this, Angelica had no response. She did not pursue her questioning, did not ask _why_ exactly the world needed a blog run by an adolescent whose sole purpose was to call New York's superheroes the most insulting names possible.

Alexander, her at the time boyfriend, had supported her in this, even promising, with a snicker, that if he ever became a supervillain, she would still be allowed to make up ridiculous names about him.

Back then, Eliza had laughed, dismissing Alexander's words as nonsense. Now, though, she couldn't help but wonder whether Alexander had somehow, instinctively, known what was to come. She remembered hearing about a woman in Chicago who made a fortune off on her precognitive powers, but Alexander had never indicated that he had anything of the kind. _Still_.

When Eliza started the blog, there were only two supervillains in the city – the Icicle and Mr Magenta. The latter was mostly harmless, unless one happened to need to visit a bank, in which case all bets were off. The Icicle, however, wielded his elemental powers with an unprecedented ruthlessness, frequently attacking events, with no thought to human life, causing millions in property damage in one fell swoop. As a result, the superheroes who were inhabiting New York – a team comprised of Eliza's sisters and her boyfriend – were focused, more often than not, on defeating the Icicle, with the eventual goal of arresting the guy. They had drawn lots as to who had to deal with the other supervillain, a lottery which Alexander had lost, which had led to him being forced away, as he oftentimes complained, from situations which genuinely needed his intervention and into scenes which could have honestly featured in a comedy movie – random pets flooding the banks at odd intervals, paintball bombs which were the perfect replicas of various statues all around New York, and, on one memorable occasion, all of Times Square being suddenly compelled to dance the Electric Slide fifty times. These were not so much a danger as they were a nuisance, and Alexander could not help but point out that they were a clear waste of his talents, to which Angelica had replied that “someone had to do it, Alexander, suck it up.”

One of the consequences of Alexander becoming Mr Magenta's assigned superhero, so to speak, was that the two frequently began to argue about matters not at all pertinent to the attack. For the most part, these debates were about politics, but not a few times, they strayed into personal matters.

From their very first meeting, it was clear that, for all that their powers were frighteningly similar, Alexander was the very opposite of Mr Magenta. They were fire and water; black and white; lion and snake. They were the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

This had the unfortunate effect of actually motivating Mr Magenta into putting more thought and more planning into his attacks. This meant all sorts of problems for Alexander, who had, until that point, been content to only have to deal with a few stray animals before being able to return to the actual battle. It was almost as if Mr Magenta had met his match, and was now jealous that the city's more belligerent supervillain was stealing away his opponent, which led to more vicious attacks on his part.

Eliza knew that she could never be a superhero — she couldn't stand the thought of having been the cause of another person's pain, no matter their wrongdoings.

She could, however, help in a different manner — she could change the world's opinion of mutants; she could bring along the realization that mutants were just as human, just as vulnerable, just as capable of indescribable cruelty and divine compassion, just as varied in kinds, as 'regular' humans.

 _Somebody_ needed to do it.

* * *

**_The Musings of a New Yorker_ **

_Another day, another dawn. The sun hasn't gone out. A kudos to humanity for not having destroyed the universe quite yet, I suppose._

_In other news, I'm sure you've heard about the Miss Know-It-All vs Creepy Zombie Guy fight. Seriously, this is getting old. Every week, it's the same: the villain, the 'bad guy', creates a crazy scheme to take over the city, and the hero, the 'good guy', scrambles to stop the destruction of civilization as we know it._

_Or so they would have us believe, anyway. I doubt that's the whole truth._

_Instead of fighting them with a mindlessness that isn't unlike sheep led to slaughter, shouldn't we be asking the 'bad guys' why they fight, exactly? They have their cause, as do we all. No person has ever done anything with that amount of enthusiasm and planning put behind it despite believing that it's the wrong thing to do. Hitler himself believed that an ethnic cleansing would aid the German people. Don't get me wrong, I'm not defending Hitler or his actions, but I_ am _saying that even he believed, deep down, that he was doing the right, if hard, thing._

 _Our villains have their beliefs too. Why does nobody try to just_ talk _to them?_

* * *

One post followed another, then another. One day, Lafayette arrived at Eliza's doorstep while the other Schuyler sisters were out mending their superhero costumes. His plan had been to threaten Eliza into shutting down her blog.

He didn't count on Alexander coming to Eliza's defense.

"Whose side are you on, really?" Lafayette asked heatedly, cutting Alexander off mid-rant.

Alexander shrugged. "My own,” he said simply.

Since that day, Eliza Schuyler was clearly Off Limits (no matter how much Thomas Jefferson wished otherwise).

* * *

_Chat: casually plotting world domination_

_mr magenta:_ _@neuromancer_ your ex is talking shit about me

 _mr magenta_ : again

 _neuromancer_ : you're going to have to be more specific, mr let's-mix-the-colors-on-the-french-flag-and-see-how-it-goes

 _neuromancer_ : also, whatever she said is probably accurate

 _neuromancer_ : which brings me to

 _neuromancer_ changed _mr magenta_ 's name to _thomas the tarantula_.

 _thomas the tarantula_ : very funny hamilton

 _thomas the tarantula_ changed _neuromancer_ 's name to _creepy zombie guy._

 _creepy zombie guy_ : except??? that's literally not what neuromancer means???

 _thomas the tarantula_ : elizabeth says it does

 _creepy zombie guy_ : she says a lot of things

 _creepy zombie guy_ : among others that you have a spider sex kink

 _creepy zombie guy_ : which is why you keep using spiders to invade banks

 _creepy zombie guy_ : which EWWWWW

 _thomas the tarantula_ : I do NOT

* * *

 _To: the sensible schuyler_  
I heard you were saying some pretty nasty things about me

 _From: the sensible schuyler_  
You're going to have to be more specific.  
Who is this, anyway?

 _To: the sensible schuyler_  
sweet jesus on a stick, you've spent too much time around hamilton  
edward scissorhands, WHO DO YOU THIINK

 _From: the sensible schuyler_  
Rude.  
Based on your attitude, I'm guessing Mr Tarantula.

 _To: the sensible schuyler_  
don't call me that

 _From: the sensible schuyler_  
Why not? Does it hurt your fragile masculinity?

 _To: the sensible schuyler_  
I expected this kind of attitude from hamilton, not from you  
you're described as a cinnamon roll, not as an evil blogger

 _From: the sensible schuyler_  
'Evil blogger'? Is that honestly the best you can come up with? #unimpressed  
Alexander's attitude is contagious  
especially towards self-obsessed assholes

 _To: the sensible schuyler_  
I sincerely hope not  
hamilton has the tact of an unsharpened knife  
I wouldn't want to 'inherit' that

 _From: the sensible schuyler_  
… I see what you did there  
you get bonus points for the pun  
however roundabout it was  
seriously tho  
you could have just written 'blunt'

 _To: the sensible schuyler_  
don't ruin my fun

 _From: the sensible schuyler_  
by all means, go ahead, O Great Tarantula Lord

* * *

Thomas and Hamilton's feud was nigh-legendary in New York City. It had begun way back when Hamilton was still a superhero, and had carried over even as the man himself switched sides. One memorable week, their feud had devolved into talking to each other via _actual letter-trained birds_ (they're not owls, Jemmy, _shut up_ ).

Still, disregarding their personal feud spanning back almost a decade, Thomas and Hamilton knew each other better than one would expect. Granted, they denied it whenever asked, but Thomas could ramble, off the top of his head, Hamilton' three favourite restaurants, while Hamilton was able to – correctly – point out all of Thomas' tarantulas (which Thomas had _initially_ acquired with the intention of setting them loose at the bank two blocks from his apartment, but grew strangely fond of before he was able to execute his plan, and had eventually kept them).

One thing that Thomas knew about Hamilton was that he never hesitated to go after what he wanted, even when it made no sense, logical or otherwise, and any sane person would choose another path. It was what made Hamilton such an unstoppable force of nature – and Thomas would, if he had been forced to stop and think about it, which he endeavoured to avoid in this particular case, inevitably form a suspicion as to the true extent of Hamilton's powers, most of which remained yet untapped. It was nothing compared to the man's ex-girlfriend, whom Thomas had met all of once and who could probably re-write history if she put her mind to it, but the potential was definitely there in Hamilton as well.

They were quite a contradiction, the pair of them. On one hand, different as day and night; as green and purple; as ravens and snakes. Thomas was the person to turn up thirty minutes late to a performance of Cats, with Starbucks. Hamilton was the type to condemn Starbucks for its capitalist commerce and willingness to cater to the needs of the mindless bourgeois of modern society. (Hamilton's hatred of Starbucks, Thomas privately thought, was also founded in the fact that his best friend wouldn't be able to choose a coffee if his life depended on it.)

 _But on the other hand._ On the other hand, Thomas was perpetually reminded of the fact that, for all their differences, their powers were frighteningly similar – dare he say _identical_ , if Thomas had not made the choice to focus on another area than Hamilton. Hamilton's powers affected what people saw, but it was like he was forcing an image onto them. His entire power was focused on getting _his_ vision into _other_ people's minds. Thomas, on the other hand, taught himself to extract information and genuinely control other people's actions.

All this swirled in Thomas' head as he looked around, taking in the streets of New York City with a certain incredulity. He really had nothing to say at this point. “You've made a right mess of things.”

Okay, he had _one_ thing to say.

Hamilton opened his mouth. Thomas groaned, mentally calculating the chances of success, were he to try to push Hamilton off the roof. He didn't like his odds. “Shut the fuck up,” he said instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play a game called 'who's Vampyre'
> 
> AdotHann, to whom this part is dedicated, has created a brilliant verse inspired partly by this one. Go ahead, read it. It's hilarious.
> 
> In other words, this is the first fic I've written since finishing _The Other 51_. It's oddly satisfying.


End file.
